


A Life In Chocolate

by activevirtues



Category: Alias
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-17
Updated: 2004-03-17
Packaged: 2017-10-02 17:59:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/activevirtues/pseuds/activevirtues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sydney measures her life in chocolate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Life In Chocolate

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: None of the characters used are mine. I don't even have money for chocolate, so don't sue.  
> Rating: PG, PG-13 at the most.  
> Summary: Sydney measures her life in chocolate.  
> Feedback: My chocolate is comments. Please leave some. Bitter, sweet, or anything in between. I'm fine with it all.  
> Author's note: This is not for the Sarkney Ficathon. Any resemblance to anyone's challenge for it is not at all coincidental should be ignored.

There are many things in life that Sydney considers to be essential. At the very top of the list, above comfortable stilettos, Chinese takeout, wig glue (something she finds herself bumping up the list in importance the longer she's in the business of international espionage), coffee ice cream, and baby powder (which is an essential for anyone who wears as much leather or rubber as she does), is chocolate.

She knows it's ever-so-slightly ridiculous for a mature woman to be as enamored of anything inanimate as she is of chocolate, but she tends to ignore her own better judgment in the face of what she, in her own mind, calls The Good Stuff.

Sydney wouldn't admit it to anyone, but she measures her life in chocolate.

At the age of six, during her mother's wake, she watched from a chair in the corner of the room as the adults went on with the business of mourning. She ate a chocolate cake that Emily Sloane had made, and observed. At that point in her life, Sydney hadn't known what ganache was, but she remembers the way it had felt on her tongue, heavy with grief and rich with pain.

Sixteen brought Sydney's first boyfriend, and she'd hidden the heart-shaped box of cheap chocolates he'd bought her for Valentine's Day in the drawer of her bedside table and savored them, one at a time, until it was Easter and the only one left was the nut-covered one. She left it for her father one weekend that he was home, beside a plate of meatloaf she'd fixed for them. They ate in silence, and when the phone rang halfway through the meal, she wasn't at all surprised when the chocolate was left next to the plate of half-eaten meatloaf as he rushed out of the house to attend an emergency business whatever. The last chocolate tastes like being alone, Sydney discovered. Now, when she receives a box of chocolates, she throws the last one away.

Danny knew about her love affair with it, and used the knowledge shamelessly to his advantage. After he proposed, they went out to an overpriced French restaurant and ordered dessert first. Champagne gives chocolate a new layer of flavor, and the texture of chocolate mousse on the tongue was as giddy as looking into the eyes of her new fiancé and seeing everything good that could possibly happen reflected in them.

Sydney measures her life in chocolate, and finding out that everything she lived was a lie tastes like the cheap stuff, bought in a 7/11 that she walked to in the rain at three in the morning when her dad dropped her off at home after rescuing her. It was the only thing open, and the sixty-cent bar of Hershey's was as good as she could get. She ate it slowly, wishing it were anything else, wishing everything would go away and change and be better, and knowing it wouldn't. It was half-melted before she finished.

Victory tastes like The Good Stuff, kicking the collective ass of the bad guys on an exotic mission, and buying three bars of Guylian dark chocolate in the airport in Brussels on the way home. She ate a half a bar on the airplane, savoring the bitterness.

After the takedown of SD-6, she bought herself a box of Godiva truffles.

Chinese chocolate is crap. When she woke up in Hong Kong, she knew it was going to be a very, very bad day. She was right.

Sydney measures her life in chocolate.

Francie knew about it, before things got more complicated, but Francie knew a lot of things about Sydney that nobody else would have guessed. Her father seemed to notice the last time they went out to dinner, though, and last Easter he bought her a chocolate rabbit with a slightly crazed grin that was almost too cute to eat. He gave it to her sheepishly, and the expression on his face began to make up for the Easters he'd missed. Vaughn bought her chocolate once - _once_ \- and then things started to happen and now he's buying chocolate for someone else, if he even bothers. Syd's not sure that normal human obsessions are Lauren's cup of Australenglish tea, though, and tries not to think of it whenever possible. Weiss understands her need for chocolate in a way that's almost psychic, and when she's feeling especially down he numbs the pain by plying her with tequila and Toblerone in equal doses. He comes as close to Francie's understanding of her almost-obsession as anyone has since life got complicated, and so she lets Weiss be her enabler as long as he keeps quiet about it.

She's sure that he has, though, and even if he hasn't, she's sure that there are a few people to whom he would not spread the word.

Person number one is standing on her doorstep with an open shoebox full of The Good Stuff, wearing a leather coat the color of the dark Guylian she bought the first time she stopped over in Brussels.

She blurts out the first thing that enters her mind. "I'm calling the cops."

Sark starts laughing. "You call the cops, Miss Bristow, and I take the chocolate with me."

"You're out of your mind if you think I can be bribed so blatantly and with such little payoff."

"Oh, my payoff is anything but little, darling. But I just want to talk."

"Pull the other one, _Julian_. It's got bells on."

He sighs and takes a step forward. "Sydney, listen. I got a call from Irina yesterday -"

"Talk to my father."

"I did."

This gives her pause, and as she meets his gaze she wishes she could take the box and shove him off her front porch into the azaleas. "Don't tell me. He sent you here with a box of chocolates."

Sark nods. "He sent me here. The chocolates were my idea."

She stands in the doorway for another moment, studying him, and then finally acquiesces with a put-upon sigh. It is childish, but something about him makes her want to stick out her tongue and pull his hair. "You'd better come in, then."

"Where should I --?"

"I'll take them." Sydney snatches the box from his outstretched hands and puts it on the table beside the sofa. "Sit and explain yourself."

"You're the very soul of hospitality, Agent Bristow," he murmurs with an ironic half-smile, and sits in the chair across from her, leaning forward seriously. "Your mother didn't want me to get in contact with you. She wanted me to talk to Jack. I'm not sure on the specifics, but apparently they have a protocol for contacting each other."

"So I've been told."

"Well, she was afraid that the protocol had been compromised. She was in a... situation of sorts, and asked me to get in touch with him on her behalf."

"I'm sure he danced for joy when you showed up on his doorstep the way you did on mine."

"Well, I brought him more chocolate than that," Sark deadpans. "Actually, I didn't show up on his doorstep. I arranged a meeting through other channels. There are proper ways to do these things."

"Obviously showing up at nine o'clock on a Wednesday night is not one of those ways. I'm missing _The OC_."

"Yes, I'm terribly sorry about that, Agent Bristow. It's a great tragedy."

"So you contacted my father."

"Yes. I'm not at liberty to say what happened-"

"...He kicked the shit out of you."

She's amused by his annoyed glare, which disappears the moment he realizes he's doing it. "No, he did not 'kick the shit out of me,' as you so elegantly put it. We discussed what Irina wanted us to discuss like two rational people."

"So why are you here, if your business with my father is complete?"

Sark looks almost worried for a moment, and then explains, "Jack had to leave immediately. Irina required assistance in a rather delicate matter."

"I know Dad," muses Sydney. "He's not the most delicate person."

"When it comes to this sort of thing, he's the only person. He left as soon as I did, and I think his employer has no idea that he's gone. Irina gave me few specifics, but what I know is that this is something that requires a great deal of discretion."

"So why are you here?"

"Your father wanted you to know where he'd gone and why without alerting anyone else to it. I'm rather adept at playing the messenger for Irina, so it only seems fitting that I do the same for her husband." He smiles, and it seems almost genuine in the low light of the living room. "Your father says that he's gone for a few days to assist your mother, and gave me this for you to use if you need to contact him. He'll call you when he's done." Sark digs slips a hand into the pocket in the lining of his coat and pulls out a sleek black phone, handing it to her in a single smooth motion.

She accepts it; in that moment she believes him, sees a task completed reflected back in the serious lines of his face, and suppresses a sigh. "Thank you, Mr. Sark."

"You're quite welcome." He gets up to leave and is stopped by a hand on his forearm.

"There's just one more thing," she says.

"Yes?"

"The chocolate," she wonders aloud, almost to herself. "Why did you bring it?"

Sark's smile is genuine, a thing that lights up the room. It confuses her, surprises her, and makes her slightly sad. "The chocolate? I thought you might need it." The touch of his lips upon hers deepens the daze. He brushes her mouth with his own and deepens the pressure momentarily before pulling back, giving another of those strange, bright smiles and then biting his lip. "Goodnight, Sydney."

He has already left before she gathers herself together enough to respond. When she opens the first of the packets and slips a white chocolate pastille into her mouth, she doesn't analyze the way it melts on her tongue. When she licks her lips, he's still there. She smiles. He doesn't taste like the chocolate.


End file.
